Page 2 of The Return of the Rake

He was an older man, perhaps in his mid-forties, but still robust and rather handsome, though his face showed signs of dissipation. Still, he was recently widowed, and she had heard many other young ladies gossiping about his wealth, and what it might be like to be his marchioness. Anne felt a shiver of unease as she stared into his cool blue eyes, but perhaps if she could get this man to show an interest, her father might not be so furious with her for dismissing Mr Fleetwood. He believed she was out of her mind to aim as high as a future marquess, not that it had been Lawrence’s title she had coveted. But her father thought it unlikely she’d capture a title of any kind. He had told her to apologise to Mr Fleetwood and tell him she had been unwell that day, that she had spoken foolishly, or she would face the consequences, but Anne would not make a fool of herself, no matter her father’s threats.

If she really could catch a marquess, though, well that would show him.

“Do you think it possible, my lord?” she asked the man, holding his gaze with more confidence than she felt.

“Certainly, I do. Come, take a little walk with me,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and holding it there, a proprietary gesture that made her heart thud with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

She looked around, seeing two young women eyeing her with jealous displeasure. Anne smiled serenely back at them.

Leighton gave a low chuckle. “Indeed, I seem to be winning already, eh?”

“You must know that your attention is sought after, my lord. I am not above feeling pleased to be noticed,” she told him candidly.

“Forthright. I approve. I like plain speaking girls,” he said. “Let us away to the conservatory, where there are not so many interested viewers. I have something to say to you, and I think we need a little privacy.”

Anne slowed her steps, looking up at the man, suddenly wishing he had not noticed her after all.

“Don’t look so frightened,” he said soothingly. “But a fellow needs a quiet place to ask certain questions. You surely do not wish me to declare myself in public?” He winked at her, urging her out of the ballroom.

Anne followed, bewildered but too elated to deny herself the chance of a proposal. She had heard it said that, as the marquess already had his heir, he would marry the next time to please himself and concern himself less with the girl’s breeding and dowry. Had he really taken such notice of her? Could it be possible? Oh, how good it would feel to go home to her father and tell him she had received a proposal from a marquess. How good it would feel to be a marchioness, when her father was so in awe of anyone with a title and believed her not good enough. Never good enough. Oh, and the look on her mother’s face, too! Anne almost laughed as she pictured it. Her mother was an insipid creature who said nothing, unless it was to echo her husband’s words. Their lives had been one big disappointment, culminating in Anne’s birth, a worthless daughter when they had wanted a son. She had never made up for that terrible defect, though she had tried and tried for many years. No longer. Now she would make her own decisions and shape the future herself, no matter what.

“Where are we going?” she asked, trepidation fizzing beneath her skin. All young ladies knew they should not go to secluded places with men.

“Just into the conservatory,” he said, smiling down at her, though that curve of his lips did little to put her at ease.

“Perhaps we could stay here. There’s few people, and—”

“I do not speak of such matters where all the world can overhear them,” he said firmly, but he paused, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I’ve been watching you, Miss Harding. I’ve been watching and waiting, but when I heard Fleetwood had proposed, I feared I had lost my chance. You did right to turn him down. A nice fellow, but dreadfully ordinary. You are not ordinary. Such a beautiful girl. You have the bearing of a duchess, you know, despite less than remarkable heritage. Your dowry is nothing to speak of, and yet… and yet…”

His eyes glittered, and Anne waited, desperate to hear what he would say next. Had she truly captured his attention without even knowing it?

“Coming?” he asked her, gesturing towards the entrance to the conservatory. “What I have to say will take but a moment and, if you accept, you will leave knowing your future is secure. That I promise you.”

Anne’s heart skipped, but she nodded and followed him inside.

“Anne, for God’s sake, stop crying. Whatever were you thinking, coming alone to my apartment of all places, and at this hour? You must go home before anyone discovers you here. It will be all right, I promise,” Lawrence insisted. He looked bleary-eyed, certainly far from sober, and was in no state to be dealing with her hysterics. But she had been too afraid to go home and tell her parents what had. Not that she needed to. Her chaperone would be there right now, telling the tale of how half the ton had discovered the Marquess of Leighton alone with his new mistress, her dress in disarray after the struggle she had put up.

“It won’t! It won’t ever be all right. I’m ruined, Lawrence.”

“Damn it, Anne! Did no one warn you about Leighton? Good God, I ought to have done so myself.”

She shook her head, sobbing into a cushion on the settee in his rooms. “No. I th-thought he was going to propose to me.”

Lawrence groaned, and she glanced up to see him rubbing a weary hand over his face. “Damnation, but you are the silliest chit.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” she demanded furiously. “Aren’t you going to call him out?”

“Want to see me dead, do you?” he asked dryly.

“Of course not, b-but—”

“Just calm down,” he said, clearly striving for patience, holding his hands out to her. “And stop shouting. I have the devil of a headache.”

“Oh, poor you,” she snapped, aggrieved. Her entire life was ruined, but he thought she didn’t ought to complain about it.

He muttered a curse began massaging his temples, favouring her with an impatient glare. “Devil take you, Anne. We just need to get some sleep. In the morning everything will be clearer. I shall come up with a plan to extricate you. I’ll find a way, I promise you, only—”

Anne snorted, knowing he was grasping at straws, for Leighton had set her up. He had arranged those people to discover them together, had made it so that no man would ever marry her, and his offer to make her his mistress would be her only option. He would certainly not care about his own honour. Apparently, everyone but Anne had known the man was a heartless bastard and cared nothing for people’s opinion. He would never offer for her, not that she would have accepted him now under any circumstances.